Frank, Interrogated
by Joanna Hepler
Summary: Frank, having faced a courtmartial and Louise’s wrath, struggles to cope as his world crumbles around him. Sequel to The War Makes No Apologies.
1. Letters

**Frank, Interrogated (Guerra de Nervios)**

A Sequel-Continuation-Ish to** The War Makes No Apologies**

_Okay, so I was sort of semi-convinced to keep The War Makes No Apologies going by Tirathon. It now returns for as long as I get told to write it and/or have ideas and/or don't get kicked out of the public library. (That's why Apologies took so long, I moved house and lost the Internet in the process. I didn't forget this stuff, honest!) Please review. Flames extra welcome, my ego needs deflating._

_A/N: If anyone has better title ideas, sing out by all means. This was the only thing I could think of bar "Insert Relevant Title Here."_

**Part 1 - Letters**

_Dear Louise,_

_I sincerely apologise for my lack of letter-writing. You realise we've been extremely busy here, those Commies keep shooting at our brave soldiers. Yours truly has successfully operated on many a decorated American! Of course, the two degenerates I am forced to endure continue their nasty, snide remarks. I'm learning to bounce off it, Louise. I am rubber and they are glue. Hee hee!_

_Did I tell you about a couple of weeks ago? All I did was take a leisurely walk around, and – er – out of camp, I come back, nothing's happened to me and now they… they want to court-martial me! I haven't done anything wrong, Louise! Honest! They have it in for me. Pierce and McIntyre. They want nothing more than to see the end of Major Frank Burns. (That's me, darling.) _

_I swear, honey, I can feel your love all the way in Korea. Please write, I really do read your letters._

_Your dearest,_

_Frank xxx_

"Ah, Frank, writing General MacArthur again, I see?"

"Giving him some war-fighting tips? Not that he needs any, he's already messed up this 'police action.'"

Boy, was I fed up with Pierce and McIntyre. Those two had ALWAYS had it in for me. Even when Pierce put something funny in that Still and started being nice, underneath it all he felt no different. Why should he? Everyone needs someone to hate… for just about everybody, that someone was me. Not even Margaret was on my side.

"Oh, go fish, you… you…"

"Frank, you've already called us you-yous. Why can't you be a little more creative with your insults? Or is that too much for you?"

"Pierce! I… I won't stand for this! I don't have to!" I stood up, clearly incensed, and made for the door.

"Where do you think you're going? Major Houlihan's tent has a sign on the door reading Do Not Disturb."

I stopped. "It does? But she… I… How do you know I was going to Major Houlihan's tent?" I looked around frantically. Who could be there? "All right, who's visiting?"

"Oh, just an old, er, friend of Margaret's. She invited him in." I couldn't believe McIntyre's casual tone. I wanted to… to punch him! How dare he speak about Margaret that way! Even if she does hate me…

"We-ell, did she now? We'll just have to see about that! It's against regulations to-"

"**Attention, all personnel. Attention. Incoming wounded. All personnel report to the compound."**

"To what, Frank? Socialise with a woman of the opposite female sex?"

"All right, break it up, Trap… Frank." Pierce pronounced my name with a sneer-smile-curtness I couldn't quite place. "Don't forget, Frank, you're under house arrest." Sneer. "And _don't touch that still_."

"You can't order me! _I'm _a_ Major!_" I shrieked, taking care to emphasise my clusters.

"I can threaten you as much as I please, Frank. Now you be a good little Major and behave. God knows you're probably doing these soldiers a favour."

"I… My skills are perfectly adequate! How dare you…" So much for me finishing my sentence. They'd already run out to the compound to greet our brave soldiers…and the odd Chinese commie.

So. I had at least six hours of daylight to waste: at most, two days. Undisturbed. All on my lonesome. With the exception of the MP standing outside my door to watch my every outside move. Damn the man.

What else was there to do? I didn't have anyone to write to except Louise and no one else ever sends me mail. The Bible was beginning to lose its appeal – after all, nothing new ever happens – and the only other literary material were Pierce and McIntyre's nudist magazines. Filth.

Hold on… there was the letter I put in my pocket, that I never got around to reading. Why would Louise be sending me another letter? Maybe she forgot she sent the first one and wrote everything out again. Haha, that wouldn't surprise me… Louise has never exactly been the shiniest cluster around.

I sat on my cot and began to read.

_My dearest Frank,_

_I am sorry to bother you with another letter so soon after the first. Therefore, I resolve to keep this letter short. _

_About three weeks ago, I was invited to a dance at the local elementary school, to raise money for injured soldiers. I couldn't help thinking of you, and how much you would love the idea._

"Love the idea?" This woman's my wife? She doesn't know me at all.

_A man by the name of Patrick Jones, whom our neighbours (remember them, Frank?) are good friends with, heard that you were in Korea and thought I could use a little company. Isn't that thoughtful of him, darling?_

Yes. Lovely. "Hey, you're essentially single, wanna go dancing?"

_Anyway, I enjoyed the dance immensely. Pat was such a dear man. He took me home afterwards, and called me regularly to see how I was going._

_Last week, Pat made a proposition. You know, the sort you don't say no to. I was head over heels for him and couldn't refuse. I love him so much, Frank… it breaks my heart to ask this. You have no idea how bad I feel writing this letter._

You can't feel that bad, the man's just proposed!

_Frank, I have decided to begin a new life with Pat and the girls. I feel that this is the best outcome for us all. After all, you never wrote me letters anyway… how was I to know your true feelings towards me? _

_Attached are the relevant papers from our lawyers. I would greatly appreciate it if you could fill them out and return them as soon as you can._

_Take care in Korea – the girls can't wait to see you._

_Louise_

_PS. Write back urgently – we have things to discuss._

She isn't…

Louise, my darling, how could you do this to me? How could she? How could Louise, the woman I married, the woman I never really loved anyway, just leave me like that! I mean… she gets half of everything! It's all in her name! She… she can't do that! And what about the girls? She could move to Alaska and I'd never get to see them again!

Ooooh… that Patrick character… I hate him! I HATE HIM! How dare he take Louise away from me? Louise was mine! I married her first! Why, if I ever lay hands on him…

Really, Frank, why are you surprised? Louise was lonely. You're in Korea. You never loved her anyway.

Staring at that letter… I was angry, confused, heartbroken. I had steam coming out of my ears and tears streaming down my face. I thought about keeping that letter for posterity… no. I'd stare at it every day of my life, lamenting what I'd done to cause Louise to leave me.

Trembling, I rose to greet the stove-fire. Over the months, it had swallowed so much – old editions of Stars and Stripes, bad letters from home, bits of Col. Blake's desk, World War II surplus mush we should be more grateful for. I stared and watched the flames dance as they swallowed the letter.

The letter to Louise I'd finished barely fifteen minutes earlier lay glinting at my desk. Instantly, I felt a surge of intense hate for that wife-woman. How dare she… and I'd even written a lovely letter back to her.

I swiped the letter and read over it one last time. I did too love Louise. I'd written it so. That bit wasn't a lie.

In it went. The flame devoured the paper, the edges burning and crumbling in an instant.

"Oh, Louise!" I shouted in anguish as my face hit the pillow.

……ooooooOOOOOOoooooo……

_Please review and tell me if this is worth continuing. No idea when/if this will be updated; might be next week, might be next year. Damn the library. Note: I don't have a beta reader, all errors and mistakes are mine. I wouldn't let anyone else share my supposed spotlight. :D That said, suggestions are welcomed._


	2. Major Ego and Captain Womaniser

Part 2 – Major Ego and Captain Womaniser 

I don't know how long they were in surgery. It was daylight again when I apparently woke up, not that I remember falling asleep in the first place. My pillow was soaked with tears and sweat (disgusting). My mouth was filled with bits of army-issue pillow that tasted like mothballs.

"Shhh, not so loud, Trap, you'll wake him."

"Hawk, I can't read any quieter."

"Give it here." Pierce grabbed the piece of paper from McIntyre's hands. At least, that's what it sounded like. I didn't want to show my face in camp again, and that included my tent-sharers.

"Wow… I had no idea…" Pierce, elaborate. I have no hope of finding out what's going on if you don't say anything.

"What do you think Frank'll say?"

"Who knows… he could say anything, no one knows how his head works these days… ever since he went AWOL he's been a different person."

"Almost bearable, you think, Hawk?"

"Oh, I could always bear Frank. He rabbited on a bit, but for the most part he squirreled out of tight spots."

"Boom-tish. Look, I gotta go do Post-Op. I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you, Trap."

_Bang_. Closing doors quietly had always been beyond McIntyre. At least they were closed at all… he must have finally realised he didn't live in a tent.

Pierce's cot _creaked_ as always. Never oiled the thing. If I had a dollar for all the Army regulations he's flouted I would be a very rich man indeed…hee hee hee, riches… might try that. Not that I have much in the way of riches… it's all hers now…

"Frank, he's gone, you can wake up now."

"But I… I am waken up! I mean, er, I am capable of waking up myself! I don't need Captain Degenerate to remind me!"

"Ah, so I'm Captain Degenerate! And you're Major Ego! Major Adulterer! Major Pain-In-The-Gluteus-Maximus!"

"Major Ad–! You can't talk, Captain Womaniser!"

"Captain Womaniser! May I remind you that I am not having an affair behind my wife's back! At least I'm single!"

That hurt. He really set out to hurt me that time. He was reading my letter! My – hadn't I thrown that in the fire?

He would have known I no longer _had_ a wife to cheat on.

"All right, you – where's the letter?"

Immediately I caught sight of it resting on Pierce's pillow. I'd recognise that stationery anywhere. She only used it on special occasions – like divorcing me! How dare he? That was my personal correspondence! I only read _his_ letters when they're not lying around asking to be looked over!

Our eyes met. I was furious, shaking, angry beyond words. Pierce seemed as nonchalant as ever, as if reading others' mail meant nothing to him. He doesn't need to read my mail! He gets enough of his own! Almost every day there's more frigging mail for Captain Pierce. Never for Major Burns.

"Why are we squabbling? Why are you so irritated I took the trouble to find out what was bothering you? I walk in after a wonderful OR session – take or leave the sarcasm – to find you nearly suffocating yourself with a pillow. In keeping with my lucidity of the past few weeks, I think 'What's happened to Frank?' and aim to find out."

"But… why do you care?"

"Because I have to put up with you. Court-martials tend to raise morale and I have to lower it again."

Of course. The court-martial. Desertion, conduct unbecoming of an officer, insubordination. Blake had, for once, insisted on pressing charges. Said that he was sick of me "prancing around the camp, leaving morale in the gutter." Not even Margaret had tried to stop him. As if morale would be raised with news of my court-martial. I, for one, felt miserable.

Then again, why would things be any different? Captain Pierce never liked me. The first time he set foot on this post, he smiled his little smirk-smile, waved, and called out "Hiya, Ferret Face." Not a trace of military correctness to be seen – no salute, no "Major Burns," no polish on his shoes. His tie was askew. Tsk, I had thought to myself. If one wishes to make a good impression, one does not wear one's tie askew! Eventually, I realised Pierce had no plans to make a good impression. No respect for the United States Army! No respect for his superiors, especially me.

Louise had left me, Margaret had left me. The only women who had ever loved Frank Burns. I bet those voodoo dolls were getting a workout. That sinking feeling in one's heart, that feeling of hopelessness, of despair. Louise was never coming back. Margaret had had enough of me, the cheating, spineless scum. Me, not her. McIntyre used me as a jokester's guinea pig. Never did he play jokes on Pierce. Always me. Col. Blake didn't care, as long as I wasn't making more work for him. Not that he would ever do his own work, of course, that was always Corporal O'Reilly's job.

And Pierce? Benjamin Pierce, whom everyone called Hawkeye? Sure, he chased every nurse in the camp. He would partake in excessive alcohol consumption, tonight and every night. He owned more nudist magazines than medical journals, I am quite sure. Yet there was something beneath that, under the happy, joking façade. There was a heart somewhere there. I'd seen it.

"Frank? Hello, war to Frank, anyone home?"

"Oh, stuff it. I know when you're bluffing."

"You know, do you? You lost twenty-five dollars last week. Bluffing just isn't your style, Frank."

"Go soak your head," I barked.

Pierce shuffled along, back to his cot. Not that he'd ever come anywhere near mine. Degenerate pig. "Fine. You want me to give up? You want me to watch you spiralling downwards into a heap no one can or will drag up? Fine. But don't come snivelling to me!"

_Bang._ At least he closed the door.

Bravo, Frank, you **FOOL!**

I was quite alone. The last link with the real world, the world I'd hated and grown accustomed to, had just stomped out en route to the Officer's Club. Now I was all to myself! I would go to that court-martial and show them what an officer I was, that Pierce and McIntyre needed to be stamped our immediately. Immediately!

I sat down at my desk to write a letter. I even got as far as "Dear Louise" before I realised two things. Firstly, she wouldn't want a letter from me, except perhaps as fire kindling. Secondly, I still had to fill out the papers and send them back. What if I didn't fill them out? Then I'd still have my money and the kids wouldn't move to Alaska! Brilliant! Hehehe…. no. That wouldn't work. She'd find another way, her and that… that _Patrick!_

_You know what's coming next… give me reviews or give me death! Kidding. Death would be quite inconvenient, especially as I would be unable to write more fanfiction. _


	3. Court Martialled

_Hey, kids. I bring you Part 3 for your reading pleasure. I would say sorry it took so long, but I'm not, really: I was working on a) schoolwork and b) another story I promised myself I wouldn't post until I finished the other two. Thanks to Ne-chan1 and Vandevere, my kind reviewers. A large hello also to Sporky. Yes, I DO still exist! Shocking!_

_insert disclaimer here You've all been reading fanfiction long enough to know who owns this stuff, and it ain't me._

Part 3 – Court-Martialled 

"Yes, er, the charges, General. The charges: that the defendant, Major Franklin Marion Burns of the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, did on or about the 23rd of September 1951, desert his unit, behave insubordinately toward his superior officers and conduct himself in a manner unbecoming of an officer."

The day had come. Three weeks after receiving Louise's letter, the call had come through, advising Colonel Blake of my impending court-martial. When the MPs came for me I saw, through the corner of my eye, Pierce and McIntyre jumping for joy. A sinking feeling had nestled in the pit of my stomach. I would have cried if Margaret hadn't once told me it wasn't manly to cry. I might have lost my wife, my love, my friends (what friends?) and any respect I might have ever had from these people, but I still had my pride.

My fingers twitched uncomfortably in my lap. On my side, the defence, consisting of me and my lawyer, Lieutenant Colonel Harrison. I could never feel entirely safe in the hands of a lawyer who didn't outrank me. On their side, the prosecution. Major Reid, their lawyer. Everyone from the 4077th was sitting on that side.

The court-martial was to be held in the mess tent: the unit couldn't spare everyone needed to give evidence all at once. They'd shoved me in the VIP tent, where all day I heard the whispers. "Frank's going!" "I hope Major Burns gets what he deserves." All around me were constant reminders of my impending fate.

It was one of those times in my life I'd felt completely alone. No Margaret. No Louise. No nobody. It was too late now to change anything, to bring someone to my side of the 'courtroom.'

"We now call upon the defendant, Major Frank Burns."

I slowly made my way up to the witness stand.

"Do you swear to speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"Absotively."

"…A simple 'I do' would suffice, Major."

"Oh, all right, General…"

"Please tell the court, in your own words, the events of the days surrounding 23rd September 1951."

I'd like to say that it all came suddenly flooding back, that in an instant I could remember every little detail the court would ever want to know. I'd like to say that. I wish I could. But I can't, and I'm under oath.

Truth be told, I don't remember a damn thing.

I kept staring uncomfortably at my shoes, wishing I hadn't chosen a pair of socks that were so itchy.

"Major Burns?"

I looked up for a millisecond, enough to see Pierce and McIntyre whispering. About you, Frank.

"Oh, er…yes, General. Erm…well, it really began with…, um…"

"Major, are you able to tell the court what transpired?"

"Well, General, I… really don't remember."

A snigger, followed by a loud hoot. I rolled my eyes. It could only be Hawkeye –

"Order! Captain, restrain yourself. Are you sure you have nothing to say, Major?"

Dammit. Here was my big chance, and I was squandering it. Wasted. Hello, Leavenworth.

"I'm… sorry, General. I simply don't remember."

At this point some enlisted creeps looked at each other warily and McIntyre whispered some inanity into Pierce's ear, who immediately pinched his nose to keep from laughing. Cretins.

"Well, Major, if you are unable to offer anything in your defence, I must instead call up the first witness of the prosecution, a…" He rustled the sheets of paper in front of him. "… a Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Captain, if you could…"

I was led down to the seat reserved for the defendant. Pierce flashed me an obnoxious grin as he walked past, as if he knew I was already toast.

"Captain, do you swear to speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please tell the court what transpired on or around September 23rd, 1951."

"Thank you, General. To start off with, it comes as no surprise to me that Major Burns is unable to remember anything of his escapades, or at least those which we are here to discuss. The Major's memory has been questionable at the best of times.

"He and I are usually unable to uphold anything more than a professional, working relationship, even through the Major's distinct lack of professionalism."

Liar! "That's a lie, and you know it!"

"Order! Major Burns, you have had and squandered your chance. Please continue, Captain."

"He's right. Our relationship extends to us wishing to kill each other. Now, as I was saying…"

Captain Pierce went forth to describe what had happened. Quite untruthfully, I might add: some parts were obviously made up. How would he know what happened in that foxhole? He was too drunk in the Officer's Club to notice anything. Then again, it wasn't as if I had a better version…

McIntyre seemed ever happier as time wore on and Pierce continued. Only he knew what stories Pierce was going to come up with.

I gave up listening. Pierce, then McIntyre, then Blake all stepped up and told essentially the same story. They were going to convict me. I'd be sent home, only to face breaking gravel at Leavenworth for the next three eternities. I'd never see my children. Louise would spirit them away to Alaska with Patrick. That's the sort of idea Patrick would put into her head.

I scrunched my eyes. Not that I was crying, mind you. I wasn't crying because I felt sorry for myself, because I don't. I wouldn't cry. Margaret said it wasn't manly to cry. That's right. Margaret said -

"Frank Burns is a good-for-nothing, lowlife degenerate who has no positive attributes whatsoever!"

What?!

"Major, isn't that a bit strong? After all, were you not once in a relationship with the defendant?"

"Colonel Harrison, after the childish and immature way he has behaved recently, those words are not nearly strong enough!"

Margaret's eyes were blazing, and continued to blaze as she described every mean, petty thing I'd done to her. Everything. McIntyre was revelling in every word. Pierce, however, seemed uncharacteristically pensive. I could only hope he would eventually say something in my defence. I would be wrong, of course. It was foolish of me to entertain such a thought. Don't forget, Frank, Pierce hates your guts.

"Major, are you sure your previous relationship with the defendant has not, er, tainted your testimony?"

"_Tainted?!_ I did not achieve the rank of Major by letting my personal life become intertwined with my nursing duties!"

"No, no, you got there by ignoring your nursing duties and getting too intertwined with Generals!"

The words were out before I could stop myself.

Dammit, Frank, that's just what Pierce would say! Why didn't you let him say it?

Margaret had gone a very unattractive shade of purple. She was shaking with fury. At me! Now I know how those cretins felt once they got on the wrong side of Major Margaret Houlihan.

"General, surely you will not allow this callous slander on my good name!"

"Or your bad name, whichever suits."

"Order! Major Burns! You will restrain yourself while in this courtroom."

McIntyre looked about to wet himself with excitement. Pierce was wearing an uncharacteristically pensive look I couldn't quite place. Blake, the fool, appeared as if he was attempting to stifle a belly laugh.

Remind me in the future: beetroot really doesn't suit Margaret.

"No further questions."

"Thankyou, Colonel Harrison. This court will adjourn while the judges consider their verdict."

And the gavel came down.


	4. Backstabbed

_Greetings. Sorry if this is a disappointing chapter. I couldn't bring myself to write too much more of Frank wallowing in self-pity. I was surprised to read many of you are now feeling sorry for Frank. I know I'm not, but that may be largely due to my lack of human emotion. It does seem, however, to be a recurring theme in my stories._

_Also many thanks to you, the reviewers: Ne-chan1, vandevere, Sporky, Hawk's Soul and Scorpius. Yes, Sporky, I shall update as quickly as I can. _

Part 4 – Backstabbed 

"They _WHAT?!_"

I could hear Klinger's yelp from the other side of camp. Mind you, it was a very loud camp: everyone had been talking non-stop about the verdict. Yeah, so they'd reached it hours ago. What else was there to discuss?

"But they… he… whaddya _MEAN_, he got off?!"

Much, apparently.

"I know! I thought they'd convict him for sure!"

"Especially since he said nothing in his own defence… I smell a brass rat, Igor."

"Well, you know what I heard?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

"I heard it had somethin' to do with Cap'n Pierce…"

Captain Pierce? What did he have to do with it? It was my court-martial! I had a right to know! I mean… I'm obviously glad they let me off, but… why? I'd thought I'd be sending postcards from the stockade. I thought I was a goner. But no! The General proclaimed me "not guilty." All at once the prosecution side – _their_ side – had erupted in shouts, boos and curses at the General and his men. Margaret had instantly gone beetroot again, while McIntyre stood with his jaw in an unseemly ground-scrape and Pierce… Pierce staring straight at the General, barely displaying a hint of emotion. Was he joyous, angry, satisfied…? I don't know. I might have caught a hint of wink, but I'd been so overwhelmed at the time I really hadn't paid attention.

I was back in the Swamp. McIntyre hadn't said a word to me, which suited us both fine. So far I had only received suspicious glares from his cot and hand gestures best left to the imagination.

Come to think of it, I hadn't seen much of Pierce. Apart from the Mess Tent, named after the rubbish it offers, and triage, Pierce and I hadn't seen each other all day. Which suited me very well, too. In fact, things had worked out very well: I was off the hook and the Captains hadn't spoken to me. Apart from the small matter of the… divorce papers… life was trundling along very well indeed.

_Dear Louise,_

_Words fail to express my deepest regret, remorse and shame at your news. I beg you to reconsider, Louise: I'm really not as bad as they all say I am. _

_You know that court-martial I told you about? I'm free! I'm innocent! Not guilty! See? I'm not that bad! I mean, it isn't as if I had done anything really bad in the process, but I'm glad they let me off the hook._

_Oh, Louise, I'm miserable without you. Please, don't be drawn in by Patrick! Think of the sanctity of marriage! Before too long, I'll be back in Fort Wayne, with you and the girls. It won't be too long._

_In other news, Cretins Pierce and McIntyre aren't making as many snide remarks as before. In fact, they're not making many remarks toward me full stop. Yet their silence leaves me only more time to think of you. Of our marriage._

_Louise, I have done all I can. It's up to you to make this work for us._

_Your darling,_

_Frank_

"Oh, Frank?" called a sing-song voice I knew only too well.

"Can it, Pierce. I'm not in the mood."

"I can't understand why. Someone just lied through their teeth to save your brass."

"_Their_ teeth to save _my_ brass?"

"That's right, Einstein." Pierce wandered over to his anti-freeze factory and poured himself a glass. We didn't look each other in the eye. I couldn't help but wonder what the hell Pierce was talking about, but I wasn't about to tell him and give him the satisfaction of knowing I was thinking about what he was saying.

"Well, er, I don't know why either. I mean, you hate me!" I stated indignantly. "And so does everyone else! They _wanted_ me to be found guilty and thrown in the stockade! I…" I turned from the letter I'd been finishing and sat on my bunk. "I just don't understand."

"Of course you don't, Frank," muttered Pierce in a superficially-sympathetic voice.

I don't know what compelled me to believe I could have a serious conversation with Captain Pierce. Of course he would slip in his snide jokes, his little asides that showed me clear as day he was never entirely serious.

Strangely, it kept compelling me.

"Oh, I understand lots of things. Such as 'you all hate me!' "

"Frank, if I really hated your guts I would not have gone to the trouble of… of being so nice to you! If I figured you weren't worth the effort, I wouldn't have put it in!"

"Really?"

"Really, Frank."

Another uncomfortable silence.

"Well, that's fair enough. – What effort?"

"What effort?! For the past three months I have successfully restrained myself from killing you! Didn't I tell the General that? 'Our relationship extends to us wishing to kill each other?' Yet here you are, still being a pain in the arse!"

He downed the rest of his martini and promptly fixed himself another. No booze for me today. If I was going to argue (again) with Haw-Pierce (he's _Pierce_, dammit) I wanted to do so with a clear head.

"I suppose it was too much for me to hope you'd turn over a new leaf. 'Course it was. And after…"

Pierce threw his hands in the air, an apparent sign of frustration. I really couldn't see what was bothering him; after all, he talked to me first. I didn't provoke him this time.

"After what?"

"After the strings I pulled to get you let off!"

…oooOOOooo…

Even without alcohol clogging my brain, it took a few minutes for what Pierce said to fully filter through. _He_ did it. He pulled the strings, Frank. He set you free!

Yet… I couldn't fathom it. We'd been the best of enemies ever since I set foot in this godforsaken dump three days before he did. Captain Ben Pierce. Master of practical jokes, saviour of wounded Americans (and the occasional Commie), friend to all. Excluding me. Or did it?

"And he finally gets it. Congratulations, Frank. The look of realisation appeared on your face after four minutes and thirty-seven seconds."

Pierce has a disturbing tendency to mess with my head. One minute, he's got me all wound up like a yo-yo. The next, he's flung me out, in, out, in, out. Eventually, I get disoriented, like fairy floss and a roller-coaster ride mixed together.

"But… _why?!_"

In answer, Pierce strutted to my side of the tent and sat on my cot, next to me. He tried to appear kind and thoughtful. I knew better.

"Frank, I must confess something to you."

"Pierce, this isn't Father Mulcahy's tent."

"Oh, I know that," he drawled happily, sipping yet another martini. "But you're so much more fun than the Padre, Frank." He leant up to me and smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Disgusting. I chose to ignore this last remark and bravely tried to hang onto my pride.

"My confession, Frank. I stepped in to save your brass for one reason." At this point he again put on his pensive mask, carefully weaving an impression of care and trust. Ha. I wasn't fooled.

"Remember when you and Hot Lips wanted a double transfer? When Trap and I fooled you greedy guts into thinking you'd hit the jackpot?" Oh yes. I remembered it very well. Moral filth. They had no right fooling me like that. I was sure there was something in _The Army Officer's Guide_ interdicting that sort of thing. "Well, my point is, we only bothered to keep you two lovebirds here because, well, double duty wasn't our martini, so to speak."

Hold on. That meant… "You mean you only want me here to do your work?" I spluttered, outraged. How dare he only think of me as a worker! I was more than that.

"No, I want you here to do _your_ work. I didn't want to do yours as well." Pierce got up and poured himself _another_ martini. I swear, he's built up a resistance to those things… nowadays it takes at least seven or eight before he seems even slightly inebriated.

"And the court-martial…?"

"Was precisely the same situation."

He didn't! I opened my mouth to give Pierce a shot of my mind, but he held up his hand. "Let me finish. This time around, Trapper had nothing to do with it. He wanted you in front of a firing squad just as badly as everyone else here. But I didn't. My work's bad enough without having to do yours as well, though I would probably be doing your patients a favour. However much I hate your internal organs, Frank, we need you here." He swallowed half the martini and the olive in one gulp.

I continued to sit on my cot, open-mouthed. I couldn't even work up the courage to spout a nasty comeback at Pierce. Of course, he appeared very pleased with himself as he trundled out of the Swamp, whistling a jaunty tune. What better pastime was to be had in this place than teasing and taunting Frank Burns?

Unaware of the passage of time, I sat on my bunk, thinking, mulling and soliloquising. Everyone says I was pouting, moping or having another temper tantrum. A lot they know. They don't know the half of what goes on in my head. Most of the time, I don't know either.

As the sun bade goodbye to the parched, scrubby lands of Korea, I felt as if I had tripped down a few stairs on the grand staircase to hopelessness. Not depression. Depression has such an air of… finality about it. As soon as the Army would grant me my discharge I was sure that in a few weeks I'd be right as rain.

Suddenly a flash of off-white caught my eye, from the other side of the tent. The dusk seemed to illuminate an envelope lying on Pierce's bunk, one which may or may not have been placed there by accident. It almost seemed to taunt me, calling out, "Read me, Frank. Read me." It reminded me of when the still sang its praises, uncannily in the same sort of voice. I could hardly resist having a peek. Lying there, on his cot… it's like an invitation, really.

I sneaked over, careful to avoid making any noise, and pried the letter off his blanket. _Dr. Daniel Pierce, 4302 Octavia Street, Crabapple Cove…_ Aha. Pierce Junior writing Pierce Senior. I flipped the envelope. A shrewd smile passed my lips as I read the return address. _Hell_.

Using a trick I had once learned from Corporal O'Reilly, I unsealed the envelope and unfolded the letter. As I read, I felt my jaw drop lower and lower. I had suffered through so much undue angst and torment at the hands of Pierce and his sidekick. Only now was I beginning to understand what he _really_ felt about me.

_Dear Dad,_

_And so the war continues. Our old friends have struck again, those friends being dysentery, diarrhoea and dullness. After last week, rather dull by your stateside standards and must-see utterly fabulous by mine, the 4077th is settling back into its old ways. _

_Frank Burns is back to his arrogant best, stomping around the Swamp as if something's biting his tush. In case you've forgotten, he was court-martialled over a tantrum he threw a month or so back. Trapper McIntyre offended him somehow and he went AWOL for a night, somewhere in South Korea. Anyhow, the judges let him off on a couple of technicalities. Everyone around here's furious and won't talk to Frank. Even the free man himself seems unhappy. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he really wanted to go to Leavenworth._

_But here's the thing, Dad. _I_ got him let off. I talked to the judges and convinced them that Frank was really a good guy, it was completely out of his character etc. etc. It hurt my teeth, I was lying through them so much. You know how bad a surgeon Frank really is. I hated doing it, but we need him. We need his extra ten buttered fingers. _

_I also hated the idea of doing double duty. I learned that lesson the last time Frank seemed to be out of here. We might have ended up with someone worse than old Ferret Face. At least we can manage Frank, given time and enough training. _

_In my off-hours, I worry whether I've done the right thing by keeping him here. No one else knows I've done it, not even Trapper, so they can't give me a hard time about that. Time will only tell, eh, Dad? _

_Can't wait to see you again. Send my love to Crabapple Cove._

_Your loving son,_

_Hawkeye_


	5. Reality, a shattered view of

Part 5 – Reality, a shattered view of 

"_Attention, all personnel. The officer's club is closed today, due to the consumption of all stock at last night's 'Frank Burns for Gallows' party. Captain McIntyre, your presence is required at the clean-up."_

So barked the PA speaker the morning after I found Pierce's letter. I'd heard this camp of cretins at the Officer's Club partying into the small hours. They'd better be grateful there were no wounded that night. I would have been their only hope.

"_Captain McIntyre, report at once to the Officer's Club. Captain McIntyre, to the scene of the grime!"_

Was I really that terrible? Everyone at the 4077th had disliked me since the first OR session, the first three-day party (condensed into one night), the first general's visit. I had honestly and fervently believed I was doing my duty as a Major in the United States Army.

"_Trapper, if you don't haul your tush to the Officer's Club I will personally make sure you don't get your hands on one drop of booze for the rest of the war!"_

Even I couldn't help but smile ruefully at that remark. Pierce was the only person McIntyre ever really listened to. The camp watched with suppressed giggles as McIntyre stumbled out of the Mess Tent, holding his head like a porcelain orb. I heard him mutter something about eternal vengeance and fired a glare in my direction as he dragged himself, snail-like, towards the Officer's Club. Enlisted cretins welcomed, of course.

As McIntyre fell into the Officer's Club, that altar of alcohol, my attention turned to those typewritten papers sitting on a crate beside my cot. Divorce papers. By signing, I would be effectively giving Louise permission to run off to Alaska with Patrick. My daughters… I'd never see them again. I would return to Fort Wayne, to an empty house, an empty life.

I stared at the divorce papers for what seemed like an eternity. Time warps in Korea: days can pass in minutes, yet thirty-hour OR sessions drag on for ninety. I felt I'd spent decades in Korea, yet barely hours with Louise and the girls in Fort Wayne. Shrieks and shouts wafted by the tent: McIntyre had burst out of the Officer's Club soaked through and ran around laughing while four corpsmen tried to catch him. How dare they have a good time! Didn't they know there was a war on? There could be snipers! Aerial bombers! Surprise inspections! All manner of things! Yet here they were, enjoying themselves!

My pen-hand wove over the papers almost by itself. I was losing the only thing I had any love for: my family. Louise and my three daughters. They were all I had. Louise's family hated my guts; mine liked to pretend I didn't exist. I was in no-man's land.

The pen began to fill out the papers, as if I'd told it to.

…oooOOOooo…

As usual, the Mess Tent was full of people wasting food. Joking, skylarking, messing about. To my dismay, I quickly saw the only available seat was next to Captain Pierce, two down from Captain McIntyre. It was that or eat on the floor.

"Noon, Frank."

I said nothing to Pierce and reached for the salt.

"Where were you last night, Hawk? You missed a heck of a party."

"I didn't feel like partying," he replied, morosely.

"Hawkeye, every nurse on base was at that party. We had no casualties, Post-Op's empty, Jenkins was on guard duty… what did you do last night? Frank, was he in the Swamp?"

McIntyre spoke to you? For the first time in a week, we were having a conversation. "No. I didn't see him."

"Dammit, Hawk, where did you go?"

"Why do you care?" grated Pierce. "Why are you suddenly so damned interested in where I spend my evenings? What does it matter to you?"

"I was just-"

"You can take your 'I justs' and shove them up your arse! Fuck, Trap, you're not my father! I don't have to answer to you!" As Pierce slammed his spotless tray down onto the table, I became acutely aware of everyone in the Mess Tent watching our little scene. I continued to eat and be as inconspicuous as possible.

"Hawk, you've been acting weirdly all week, and it's not just me. Go on. Ask any of the nurses." McIntyre pointed to a table of nurses, who all quickly averted their gaze and talked amongst themselves. Hmm.

"So you decide to hire yourself as a private investigator and tail me, thinking it concerns you!" Pierce jerked to his feet, eyeballing his best friend and partner in crime. "Let me tell you something, John McIntyre," he muttered, oil dripping from his words. "What I do and where I go is my business and my business only. If I hear one more word about why I didn't go to Frank's party-"

"It wasn't my party!" I shrieked. It had been McIntyre's idea to 'discelebrate Frank's innocence,' as he worded it.

"-then I will pummel your daylights into the next war, and don't think I won't do it!" Pierce threw his tray to the floor and stormed out of the Mess Tent.

McIntyre looked at me, a perennial look of confusion etched into his face. "What's up his arse today?" he asked.

It took me a few seconds to realise he was speaking to me. "I don't know. You're his friend."

"Yeah, but ever since your trial-" here he made a face to his tray "- he's been moping around like he got bitten by a depressed flea. When he's not on duty, he's always holed up in Radar's office or the O-Club for whatever reason."

"Well, er, he probably didn't like how the… trial turned out," I spouted, fibbing disgracefully.

"Eh, that's the only reason I can think of. Why am I discussing this with you anyway? You're the damn cause of it all," said McIntyre, as he rose to deposit his half-full tray in the pile. "Like you'd have any idea."

I knew that McIntyre didn't know about Pierce's saving my neck. Was it time to tell him? It might explain _why_ Pierce was so solitary these days…

"McIntyre," I began haltingly. "I-I might know why Pierce has been so, er, antisocial."

McIntyre turned, one leg over the trestle bench. "Do you now?" he asked, somewhat sceptically.

"I saw a letter on Pierce's bunk to his dad and it said that he talked to the judges and got me let off and now he's beginning to regret his decision," I said quickly, as if it were all one word.

He paused to think before swinging his other leg over the trestle bench.

"You _what_?!" With a hazily furious expression, he burst out of the Mess Tent, eyes alert for any sign of Pierce. After both Captains were long gone, and chatter returned to the Mess Tent, Klinger sidled up to me, incredulous.

"What did you _say_ to him?!"

…oooOOOooo…

"_Attention, all personnel. Incoming wounded. Repeat, incoming wounded. Sorry Frank, you're back in business."_

I didn't see either cretin again until we were all in OR. McIntyre had been in charge of triage and hadn't let me anywhere near those patients. Of course, this meant we operated on more Koreans first. They take no notice of my status as ranking surgeon.

"Forceps."

"Forceps."

We worked efficiently and quietly, for the most part: the only large break in the silence came when Pierce had a loud discussion with his nurse about the effectiveness of VD training films. Unusually, McIntyre said barely a word throughout the entire OR session, with the exception of asking for instruments.

"Nah, _VD Through the Ages_ was my favourite, personally. There was some great imagery there, but it just didn't have the necessary spark to lead me to a life of celibacy," remarked Pierce, his forearms dripping with blood.

"You do know, Hawkeye, that celibacy isn't actually that bad a life choice," piped up the Father.

"Yeah, but you're used to it. I've been a business girl for years; it's hard to break the habit."

"Pierce, pipe down. The whole camp already knows all about your sex life, do we have to torture the patients?" asked Colonel Blake, in his usual ineffective fashion.

"Exactly. We don't need this OR filled with your smut-talk," I declared, feeling ready to assert my authority over the situation.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I didn't really think much of, ah, what was the other one?" As usual, Pierce steamrolled me.

"_VD: Don't Let It Happen To You_," interjected McIntyre, the first words he'd said all day.

"Ah, that's right, thanks, Trap. I really thought…" It didn't occur to Pierce at first that McIntyre was actually speaking to him. From what I'd overheard, they had been avoiding each other.

"Hey, Pierce."

At first he didn't register the sound of his own name.

"Pierce, dammit!"

"_Pierce_? Trap, I thought we were on a nickname basis. What changed?"

"Your letting Ferret Face off the hook, that's what changed."

With the flick of a scalpel, all spare attention in the OR was focussed on Captain McIntyre.

"I can't believe you! You start acting nice to that waste of space, then when he's finally court-martialled you go and get him set free! What happened, _Pierce_?" McIntyre thundered, placing careful emphasis on the surgeon's surname. "You been bribing him again, Frank?" Pierce spouted.

"No, and I would thank you to keep me out of this!"

A painful silence, then a bitter "We'll discuss this later, McIntyre," from the man who was once his best friend.


	6. Dear Esther

_Sorry for the delay, explained on the appropriate userpage. Work now impinges on what was my library hour, but I scoop ice-cream for $12/hour so it's not too bad. Take pity on my poor writing skills._

Part 6 – Dear Esther 

We all lost count of how many hours we spent in OR, how many bodies we sewed up. Normally, we'd lose count of how many jokes the Captain Cretins served between them, like tennis. Today, I could count them on one blood-stained hand.

I knew it was futile to make conversation between them. Besides, they seemed perfectly capable of arguing all by themselves. They didn't need me to get them going. I only wanted to be safely out of the way when they did start.

It didn't take long.

Passing my tent on my way from the latrine, I could hear them at it like irritated schoolgirls. Why couldn't they sort out their problems properly, man-to-man? The enlisted creeps never seemed to have that problem. Only the other day, there was a great brawl in the Officer's Club. None of this verbal rubbish.

"Hawk, how _could_ you?! We had one chance to give Frank the boot and you screw with it! Why are you keeping him here?"

"Look, Trap, I know it looks bad-"

"Damn right it looks bad!"

"-but think about it. Remember the last time we tried to get rid of Ferret Face? We'd be doing double duty! We barely manage with single duty; think about how permanently hungover we'd be doing his work!"

"He doesn't do his work either! His patients should be lining up to sue him!"

"Ah, but dead men tell no tales, Trap."

Their drivel continued for some time.

I circled the tent a few times, neither Captain noticing my presence. I suddenly wanted to write a letter, but entering my tent would place me right in the firing line, so to speak. I'd have to attend to things somewhere else.

It didn't occur to me until I'd barged into the Officer's Club and drunk something peculiar that I'd set the whole camp against each other. Pierce and McIntyre, best friends until today, were in the Swamp tearing each other's heads off. No one in the camp had ever liked me: that was painfully clear. Before long, everyone would be taking sides.

"Bar-bartender?" I called. Private Straminsky waddled over to me, spinning like a ballerina in his ugly Hawaiian shirt.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'd like a piece of paper and a pen. And another… whatever this was," I mumbled, motioning to my drink, which seemed to move three inches closer to the edge of the table of its own accord.

"Gin martini, sir."

"Gin martini?!" I shrieked. "This is an officer's club, barman! You don't have _anything_ else? This tastes like the Still."

"The officer's club is supposed to be closed, sir. Captains Pierce and McIntyre drank everything at last night's party. This is Still gin, brewed sixteen hours ago. Apparently it's a top vintage." The Private motioned to the bottle, crudely marked "Ferret Juice: In Honour of Frank Burns. All Others Drink At Their Own Risk."

"Get me the paper and pen!"

"Yes, sir." Private Straminsky waltzed strangely to the bar and tangoed back with a notepad and pen. I took it from him and began to write.

…oooOOOooo…

"Ah, Ferret Face. Enjoy your O-Club drink? We concocted it just for you."

So spouted a blurry, obnoxious face as I woke from my inebriated slumber. The sun burned harder than usual.

"We found a letter you wrote last night, or more accurately, scribbled."

"Yeah, we couldn't read a word of it. Boy, you must have been wasted!"

Two voices? Through my hangover, I recognised the voices of Captains Pierce and McIntyre. Together. Smirking.

"Are… are you guys speaking again?"

"No. He decided to wake you up right when I got to the punchline of my argument!"

"Your argument? May I remind you most of your lines were directly copied from me!"

"I did not copy from you! You copied from me!"

The words could have come from either Captain, such was my incomprehension and the similarity of their voices.

"Let's continue this outside. I'm sick of Frank's face."

They banged their way outside, their loud voices trailing off into the ether, leaving behind a storm of confusion. My leaden brain was determined to keep its incomprehension intact. For some reason, I trusted Pierce. He'd come through for me when he had no reason to. I could understand why McIntyre was so unhappy, but it seemed as if they'd never stop fighting.

Swerving my attention somewhere else, my eyes landed on the letter I'd scrawled the previous night. Squinting and holding the paper at odd angles, it was possible to make out a word or two, but most of the letter looked as if I'd written it in Korean. I couldn't have. I don't speak heathen language.

I took the letter to my desk and began to copy it out into a legible form.

_Dear Esther,_

_Firstly, I'm sorry for the lateness of this letter. It's October here, so you should get this around Christmas. Wish everyone a merry Christmas from me. I hope you and your sisters are safe and well._

_I've heard by way of your mother that she wants a divorce. I don't know what she's told you about me and Patrick and Alaska, but I want you to know that I'm not a bad person. Your mother and I are just having some temporary problems, that's all. I'm sure Patrick isn't really so great that your mother would want to marry him. I believe that at fifteen, you're old enough to know both sides of the story. Please make sure your sisters don't get the wrong impression._

_The war's going great over here. We're treating hundreds of American soldiers every month, brave men fighting against the Red Menace. But I know you're probably not interested in the war. I can understand that. War's not really that interesting._

_I really hope your piano recital went well and your mother saw it. It might help her remember her priorities._

_Please send my love and best wishes to Ruth and Sarah, plus your mother if she'll take it. Whatever Patrick bribes you with, it's not worth it. Don't go to Alaska, sweetheart._

_Much love,_

_Dad_

"Frank?" called His voice. Not the big Him, of course, the prickly black-haired degenerate who doesn't deserve a name. He'd just come storming in after a nice little argument with McIntyre.

"Pierce, what do you want from me? One minute you say you'll help me, the next you'll end up helping McIntyre. Am I just the butt of another joke?" I spat bitterly. Pierce wasn't too sure what to make of that, a long pause ensuing before he replied.

"Frank, I am trying very hard to keep two idiots happy. Obviously, McIntyre's being a pain in the fanny, but he'll come around," drawled Pierce.

"But Pierce," I began, whining just a little, "how do I know what you'll do?"

"You don't," replied Pierce through a martini glass. "You have to trust me."

Somehow, I didn't warm to this idea. Hard to imagine, really, after everything Pierce's pulled on me.

"_Trust_ you? You pull every prank you know on me, laugh it off, then tell me to _trust_ you? You must think I'm a fool."

"I do, but that's beside the point. Look, I am probably going to get my rear kicked for getting you let off. This camp hates me. If that's not trustworthy behaviour, then tell me something that is."

"But _why?!_ You keep talking about how you saved me from the stockade but you never told me why you did it!"

"I shouldn't have to. The fact I did should be reason enough for you. I'm sure you know by now, anyway." He stood in all his insubordinate glory, red-robed and subdued, and waltzed out of the tent.

I looked back to the divorce papers, somehow filled out neatly, and the letter to Esther, almost scrawling. A tear fell from my eye –

Don't say that Frank, you soft fool. Do you want them to think you're weak and pathetic? Do you?!

- as I gathered the papers and enveloped them, ready to send stateside. No turning back after this. No more Louise. Fine, I can handle that. She's not good enough for me anyway. No more house. That's okay, I never liked the curtains or the paint job.

No more children.

No more kids. No more Esther. No more Ruth. No more Sarah.

I turned to the pictures of Louise and the kids next to my cot, looking at them tenderly one last time. On impulse, I grabbed Louise and threw it to the floor, shattering the glass and attracting vague attention from outside the Swamp. Her face looked nicer with glass fragments all over it, I thought to myself. The kids' photograph stayed where it was as I walked, dignified, towards O'Reilly's office intending to post the letters.


End file.
